


For Who You Are

by K_iddo



Series: Worthless to One [4]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arkham, Couple, Crime Husbands, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Light Angst, M/M, Mayor Cobblepot, Mayor Cobblepot and Chief of Staff Nygma, Nygmobblepot, Organized Crime, Romance, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2020-10-28 07:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20775101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_iddo/pseuds/K_iddo
Summary: After the battle for Gotham, after the city starts to return to normal, Oswald and Ed must face the changing face the city, their relationship, and themselves. (Set a few months after the battle in Gotham).





	1. The Penguin and the Riddler

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't read the 3 parts, this is how the canon diverges:  
\- Ed saved Oswald from the water immediately after shooting him.  
\- Ed was around to foil Sofia before she even got started, so Oswald never went to Arkham the second time and never lost his empire.  
\- Oswald’s remained mayor.  
\- The two are in an established romantic relationship.

The door slams very hard, and it makes Oswald flinch a little, and then a sick feeling floods his stomach. He can still feel his pulse thrumming in his neck, and he is sure his vein must be still standing out on his forehead from the effort of his yelling. Ed had yelled too, Oswald had yelled back, on and on, for what was only a few minutes but felt like longer.

It isn’t the first time they’ve yelled at each other, or the first time one or the other has slammed the door and left, but this feels different. The way Ed had looked at him; angry, but hurt, more than anything else. Oswald slumps down in his chair and closes his eyes, and actually remembers what he said:

_“I don’t care if you don’t agree, I don’t care if you think I’m pushing it too far! I let you play your little games and you let me run the fucking city!”_

_Ed’s nostrils had flared, his mouth had dropped open a little bit. “**Let me?**”_

Oswald groans aloud and covers his face with his hands, the realisation that he had been in the wrong crushing on him. It had been a long day, he had been stressed his leg was starting to ache again

… And he had been jealous, admittedly, that was probably mostly it. That he had seen him talking to that new secretary, the pretty, redheaded one who was good at her job but apparently liked to _chat_. Ed is often at City Hall, with him, because he is still his Chief of Staff, after all, and speaking to his new secretary is nothing strange or wrong. But he had been leaning on the table, long legs stretched out, arms crossed and sleeves rolled up. He’d looked so handsome, and he knows she will have thought so too.

Why did he have to be smiling at her like that? What could they possibly have been talking about?

So Oswald had breezed by him, nose screwed up a bit, and had probably still looked annoyed when Ed had stepped in his vast office.

_“How’s the eye?” He’d asked, casually._

_“Itchy.” Oswald had answered shortly, because it was, the bright blue transplant had been causing irritation from the start._

Maybe it was that as well, that had him on edge. Him with his one original eye and his limp and growing waistline having to walk by Ed and that apparently flawless young woman at the desk. Why on Earth had he hired her? To make him feel old and rickety? He chews the inside of his mouth, before standing quickly up from his chair and going to the office door. He opens it to see said secretary on the other side at her desk in the marble lobby. 

She smiles up at him expectantly, fingers poised over the typewriter keys. "Good evening Mr Cobblepot, do you need anything before I leave?"

“You’re fired.” He says, simply with a tight smile, and only savours her face falling for a moment before closing the door.

He picks up his cigarette holder from where it sits on his desk, the one Ed bought him so he wouldn’t get tobacco stains on his fingers, a little question mark on the tip. He takes a shaking breath and puts the cigarette in, lights it, and takes a long drag.

Oswald is trying to figure it out, trying to reason his way out of why he had lashed out like that. Ed had been away a lot lately, putting together these elaborate tricks, huge rooms in abandoned buildings that people have to figure out to leave, and whatever else he does all night when he comes back late, giddy and satisfied, often waking him up with kisses on his neck and a hand between his legs.

Oswald realises with an uncomfortable feeling that he’s been worried about it for weeks, Ed slipping through his fingers, getting bored of Oswald now they've been together for a while and now he his so constantly busy trying to make something of what's left of the city.

Is he sick of him? Is he sick of his attitude and his voice and the way he walks? 

“Olga!” He calls, not sure where she is but knowing she won’t be far. She appears wordlessly from upstairs, looking at him, boredly waiting for his instruction. “Whiskey and ice.”

“Water?” She asks, thick accent still very much present, as she walks to his large globe with the hidden bar.

“None.” He sighs and leans backwards in his chair, a pinched headache forming behind his new eye.

He’d been working on a plan to get the last uncorrupted judges in the city removed from office, or taken out entirely, he had been ready to move on it and Ed had disagreed, that was all. Any other time, it would not have needed to blow up like that, Oswald would have been willing to listen to Ed’s advice, but instead, he’d said:

_“You advise me, Ed, you don’t make decisions.” Because he’d remembered the way that pretty secretary had smiled at him, and he’d felt nothing but poison in his veins. “Don’t overstep.”_

And that had done it, those two words, ‘don’t overstep,’ and Oswald clenches a fist and digs his blunt nails into his palm. What a stupid thing to say. He can be such a bastard, even to _Ed_, of all people.  
  
Oswald looks to the door, and clasps his glass when Olga sets it down. He hopes Ed comes back.

* * *

Ed knows where he’s going, he goes there a lot now.  
  
Everything had changed in the time Gotham had been torn apart into those brutal factions. They had no choice but to be together, they had protected each other, made it through like always. In the aftermath of the battle, they had barely been apart; he can still keenly remember the fear he had felt when that shrapnel had taken Oswald’s eye, all that blood, because he had thrown himself on him to protect him. He had been scared Oswald was going to die, and had never been so afraid of anything in his life. 

Ed remembers sitting at the end of Oswald's roll, holding his hand, not caring that people could hear the things he said to him when he was unconscious, and see him kiss his cheek. Long after the fighting was over, after Oswald had passed out, Ed had still knelt on the floor by his makeshift hospital roll, in a sea of other injured, and murmured in his ear how much he loved him, how much he needed him to open his eyes and come back to him.

At the thought, he swallows, and tries to push it from his mind. 

Jim had mostly left them alone after that, because he had been too busy rebuilding the city, and Oswald had been putting plenty of his own money into the effort, so they had time to play… _Ed_ had time to play, unfettered by cops, and violent roaming gangs.

Oswald had mostly worked, meeting after meeting, backhanded deal after backhanded deal, and Ed found the time they spent together got shorter and shorter. Oswald had seemed different too… a little withdrawn, a little more serious. Ed caught him looking in the mirror at his eye a lot, under the patch before he got the transplant, and experimenting with ways to cover it even after.

Did he resent it? Secretly? Losing it because of Ed?  
  
Ed wishes he could just _ask_ him - they used to be good at that, talking, but it’s as if they never have the time anymore. They have time for Ed to put him arm over him, to kiss his shoulder and for the both of them to fall asleep.

That’s why Ed has made this place for himself, the top of an abandoned church spire that he enters through a loosely boarded back door. His calves always ache by the time he summits all the creaking stairs, and the main chapel smells rather damp. But he has an office, of sorts, up here, a mess of papers and cork boards, plans and maps, and a little plug-in heater.

He doesn’t _want_ to have a place away from Oswald, and never sleeps here, but he feels like he’s been… annoying him lately, with his plans and compulsions, and Ed needs to work.

So he sits himself on the threadbare cushion on the floor and switches on the heater. He’s still angry, and hurt. This might be the first night he does sleep here.

“Overstep.” He says aloud with a bitter snort. “Who the hell does he think he’s talking to?”

Still, he half expects his other half to show up and answer him, but he still doesn’t appear anymore, mercifully. Ed still needs to talk out loud though.

“Like I’m his subordinate and not his partner? Like I’m just some employee?” Ed lies down, cushion under his head, and looks up at the cracked ceiling. “‘Play your little games,’ what the hell is that supposed to mean? He’s never had a problem with my ‘little games’ before.”

His fingers tap absently on the floor, his stomach turns over when he thinks of that cold look Oswald had given him when he had arrived back at the office.

Ed can’t say the next thought out loud, but it makes this throat dry and his chest hurt.

_‘Does he not love me anymore?’_

He feels his jaw twitching and a lump in his throat.

“Fuck him.” He says, but does not mean. Another thought he has to push from his mind, for now, if he hopes to get any sleep. The idea of not having him, of them not being Oswald and Ed, Mayor and Chief of Staff, Penguin and Riddler... He can't. He just can't. 

It starts to rain outside, and the sound is soothing, and the heat from the little radiator warms him pleasantly, so eventually Ed falls asleep, which even as he slips into unconsciousness, his mind registers as feeling wrong without Oswald next to him.

When he awakens, it is with a harsh start, because the door to his little sanctuary is kicked down violently, and his eyes are barely open before he is dragged to his feet. He registers the GCPD uniforms of the men grabbing him, and Jim’s grim-looking expression. _Jim_. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, breathless with indignation and shock. He is absolutely surrounded, held by several sets of harsh hands. A feeling of foolishness crushes him that he thought he could get away without setting up security measures at this place, that his misdeeds had been forgotten.

“You didn’t think you could carry on forever, did you Ed?” Jim asks, and looks at him like he pities him, which makes Ed seethe. “This has been a long time coming.”

Ed smirks bitterly, feeling the top of his arm start to bruise where he is being gripped.

“Blackgate, then?” He says, knowing full well that fight or no fight, Oswald will get him out of there in no time.

“No.” Jim says. “Arkham is the best place for you.”

Ed would never admit it to anyone, but he feels fear run through his body at the word, and he begins to fight the hold on him, he has to try and run, anything, anywhere but Arkham. His logical mind tells him that he can't fight off a room full of cops, but logic is failing him at the idea of being put back in that place, with those people, for god knows how long. He manages to throw an elbow, catch something in the chest, but it is to no avail, he can’t move an inch, and they start to drag him away like he weighs nothing. 

“We saved this city, Jim! Did you forget?” He shouts through his teeth as he still tries to wriggle out of his capture, shoes dragging down the stairs as he is pulled. “I won’t let you do this to me!”

_‘Oswald won’t let you do this to me.’_

“It’s already done, Ed.” Jim says, stoic as ever, walking ahead. All Ed can do is stare at the back of his head, and wonder with a horrible sick feeling if he’s right.

* * *

Noon. It’s noon and still Oswald has not heard a word from Ed. Even when they’re fighting, he will at least send him a message to let him know he’s okay, the nature of their jobs being that there is always a chance of being shot in the head and thrown in a ditch.

He has called him, many times, and is beginning to feel deja vu from when Ed had been captured and Oswald had only found him at the last moment. He had not been gone so long, then. This is worrying, very worrying.

Four of his more competent leather-clad henchmen stand in front of him while he paces.

“Every second that he is not back here is a second that you are failing me!”

“We’ve looked in all the usual places, sir, pressed all our contacts.”

“Well press harder!” Oswald is making his throat hurt. “Press your boot on someone's neck, preferably.” He turns his back on them and leans his hands on the desk, trying to catch his breath for a second. “If anyone has hurt him I will blame you personally, and trust me when I say that is not something you want… Get out of here and bring me something!”

At the snap of his voice, their boots hastily leave the office. When the door clicks closed behind them, Oswald, hears his breath shake.

He could just be gone, not hurt or captured at all, just done with him, run off with someone else or to a different city all together. The thought terrifies him almost as much.

“Mayor Cobblepot.” His door opens quickly, and he is too distressed care that the person did not knock, a man he had got to replace Penn but who does not have so much of that nervous air and who dresses better. Benoit. “I have someone here who says he knows what happened to Mr Nygma.”

“Send him in.” Oswald says immediately, and straightens out his jacket, trying to look somewhat composed in case he has to put the screws on this person. He walks around his desk so is standing behind it and checks his knife in his leg brace.

When the door opens again, Oswald could not be more surprised to see Victor Zsasz standing there; a man he has not seen in months and whose head he literally had on a chopping block the last time he had seen him…

Instinctively, Oswald reaches for the gun on his desk, and he expects Zsasz to pull his own. There are not many people in this world who Oswald is genuinely scared of anymore, but Victor Zsasz is definitely one of them. Oswald would have no chance if Zsasz were to draw is gun on him. He doesn’t though, he lifts his hands with a little smirk.

“Your guys took my guns.” He says, with an easy manner. “And I’m not here to hurt you, anyway.”

“Oh please, like either us have forgot about-”

“You trying to French Revolution my head from my neck? No, didn’t forget but… I don’t know, everyone went a little crazy there, and I’m not really a revenge guy.” He shrugs, resting his hands on his lapels. Oswald lowers his gun tentatively. He can’t deny regretting how genuinely he had believed Zsasz had blown Haven up.

“Well, sorry about that, I suppose.” Oswald finds it hard to say the word, and can’t look at him when he does.

“Apology accepted, mostly.” Zsasz saunters over to the chair at the other side of his desk, casual as ever, and sits himself down. “Besides, your feelings were hurt when I left, it's somewhat understandable.”

“My feelings were not hurt.” Oswald says defensively before dropping himself into his chair. He probably should not be snapping at perhaps the only person on the planet who could be so blasé about almost being executed.

“If you say so.” Zsasz shrugs. “In my defence, you did go a little dictator there.”

Oswald sighs and rests his forehead on his hand. “Do you really have information for me or not?”

“Yes,” Zsasz leans back comfortably. “Riddler’s in Arkham.”

“What?” Oswald snaps automatically.

“Yeah, I have people now, as you know, and they saw Jim Gordon and a whole bunch of cops dragging him out of his little hideout and into a cop car, said it was definitely not heading for the GCPD, or Blackgate so-”  
  
“Wait?” Oswald holds up a hand. “What hideout?” 

How could Ed possibly have a hideout Oswald doesn't know about? And why? 

“The one at the top of the church tower…” Zsasz says, like it’s obvious, before the look on Oswald’s face clearly tells him that it is _not_ obvious. “Ah, right, you didn’t know about that.” He leans forward a bit and looks at him with a bit of pity. “Look, you’re a great guy but sometimes even the best couples need a little time apart, it’s healthy!”  
  
Relationship advice from Victor Zsasz… What is the world coming to?

“Just - whatever! Are you sure this is true? Jim wouldn't… We - we saved this city!”

“You did.” Zsasz says. “Which is why I thought you ought to know.”

“Why hasn’t this been on the news? The GCPD love to brag about bringing down the big names in this city to show off how everything is getting back to ‘normal.’”

“Guessing, it’s so you don’t find out, boss - uh, Penguin, I mean.” Zsasz shakes his head at the reflex. “But it’s legit, my people are never wrong.”

Oswald considers him for a moment. He can’t see any evidence of him lying, but then again he had always been rather a good liar.

“Tell me again why you’re giving me information I need and not shooting me in the head? In this case I couldn’t really blame you.”

Zsasz sighs and meets his eye. “Not saying I wasn’t a little sore about the whole guillotine situation but, I don’t know, I liked you.” He shrugs. “I know there’s not a lot of honour amongst guys like us but, we have a bit of history, I’m not a bitter person. Totally zen.”

He is a truly, truly strange man, but Oswald can’t deny feeling a little gladness in hearing someone say they’d liked him - those people are few and far between. Oswald had liked him too, and he _had_ been hurt when he’d left, admittedly. His relationship with Victor Zsasz is not something he has time to dwell on, though. He remembers from experience how hard it is to get someone out of Arkham, and how Ed will be feeling if he's been in there all night.

Oswald's heart thrums in his chest, and wishes, ironically, that Ed were here to advise him on what to do. 

“Well, thank you, Victor.” He says, and clears his throat, brain already racing for a plan. 

“Oh, and I told you for money too, of course. Got my eye on these new night vision scopes, real sweet. You've got money, right?”

Oswald sighs and rolls his eyes. “Speak to someone on your way out. Apparently I have an asylum-break to plan.” 


	2. One Month

The penthouse is so quiet without Ed. Oswald can’t play piano, and he has no interest in switching on the record player. Usually, when they’re here, they send any staff home, so Ed is the one who cooks, because he likes it and he's good at it. Oswald can’t really do that either, and he has little inclination to eat as it is, so the kitchen sits empty and cold, a rapidly emptying wine bottle the only thing on the counter.  It feels wrong, to be here without Ed. They weren’t joined at the hip, of course, he’s been here alone before, but always knowing that he would be home, that no matter how late, Ed would slip into bed with him, or drop into his lap on the couch with his suit jacket and shoes still on.

It's been weeks, and he isn't sure if the guilt or the loneliness will kill him first. He keeps thinking about him, and the night he was taken, that horrible fight and how nasty he had been. It occurs to him that even when he does save him, Ed might not even want to stay anymore. 

"He loves me." He says out loud to himself. It all wouldn't be so hard to deal with if he could just _talk_ to Ed and not have his thoughts run away from and torture him like they have been. He and Ed love each other, no matter what happens that is just a fact and his paranoia is trying to convince him otherwise otherwise, he's being foolish. 

God, he misses him, he misses the feel of his hair and the press of his body, the taste of his mouth, the sound of his laugh. 

Oswald has the map of Arkham laid out in front of him, chewing on his thumb and drinking another glass wine - the third or the fourth, maybe. He hadn’t quite realised how reliant he’d become on Ed for this part as well, planning and logistics. It’s the middle of the night, his people have long since gone home, not that they were much good anyway. He groans aloud and covers his face, angry at his own stupidity, his utter lack of finesse now he's having to do this alone. Where was the Oswald who could turn Falcone and Maroni against each other right under their noses? What had happened to him? 

But he knows, he knows why he can't think straight. This is the closest to how he had felt when he had lost his mother - he had lost his mind then, cut off Butch's hand and been good for little more than weeping under his covers and screaming orders at his lackeys. 

Oswald needs people with brains, people that aren’t good only for standing behind him and looking scary. He’d had people like that once, and maybe it’s all the wine sloshing around his system, but the best thing he can think to do in that moment is call a couple of them. 

He takes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through the contacts list, before it occurs to him that they will absolutely not have the same number anymore. Instead, he calls Benoit, his new Penn. 

“Yes, sir?” He answers immediately. 

“I need you to find Victor Zsasz and Victor Fries for me, and send them here.” He says, his body starting to feel exhausted from the days of catching only an hour or so of sleep at a time. 

“Is there a reason I should give them?” He asks, seemingly unfazed, that’s what Oswald likes about him. 

“Tell them Penguin needs a favour and I’ll give them a pile of money.” He hangs up and drops his phone on the couch, knowing full well what a Hail Mary that was, and hoping to god another idea comes to him other than storming the place and shooting everyone in sight in the mean time. 

* * *

There was a certain point the last time he was here that Ed had actually managed to sleep at night; right now, he can’t believe that had ever been possible. He sits on the edge of his cot bouncing his leg, until the muscle in his thigh feels tingly and numb. There are no clocks in here, or windows, and they took his watch, so he doesn’t know exactly how long he’s been sitting there, struggling to regulate his breathing and listening to the screams of the deranged. He knows the days have turned into weeks, and that his stress hasn't dipped for a moment.

He doesn't speak in his therapy sessions, which are few and far between as they are, and he refuses to take a step in that common room and get sucked into the intense madness of his fellow inmates.

Gordon hadn’t stuck around after leaving him here, just said that they would be a trial, and that he would be held at Arkham until then for the safety of the city. No bail here, in a 'psychiatric hospital' as Gordon knows.

“Won’t survive a trial… None of them will understand me, they’ll think I’m insane… Put me in here and never let me out until I’m drooling and drawing on the walls in my own blood.” He stands up, straightens out the striped prison scrubs they’ve put him in. He thinks of his poor poor suit, sitting in some dampplastic box by now.

“Oswald won’t let them do this to me.” He looks down at his hands and sees that they are shaking a bit. "He'll be working on it."

He hadn’t been in his right mind the last time he was here, hadn’t got that clarity he’s gained in the past years; no longer torn apart into two halves - he’s glad for it, but that was how he had survived last time. Ed back then was naive, believed so wholeheartedly in his own intelligencethat he never even considered he might fail to get himself out this place.

And he had failed, he’d got caught. He needed Oswald then, without even knowing it, and he needs him now. He can almost smell the fire in their apartment, feel the warmth of it and Oswald's head on his chest. 

“Killed a lot more people since then, hurt more.” Ed stands and straightens his glasses. “And this is personal, Jim’s proving nobody’s above the law, that standing shoulder to shoulder with us didn’t mean he wouldn’t come after us. Will probably put Oswald in prison next… Then what?” He paces, and in the distance can hear the sound of another man jabbering to himself about the snakes in his cell.

“Oswald won’t be able to get out of there without me, and I can’t get myself out of here without him.” He scans the cell, as if looking for a weak spot, a piece of faux-wall made of cardboard that he can break through and sprint out of here.

He steps to the sink on the wall and rests his hands on it, looks into the mirror behind it and his warped reflection. It’s plastic, not glass, so the inmates can’t smash it and use it as weapon against themselves or others. He can barely see himself for all the scratches and the dirt on it. The cell isn't filthy, not like the one he was in last time, but it's not clean either, musty and yellow and ugly. 

“Need to think, going run out of time, won’t ever see him again - I’ll lose my mind here.” His breath quivers. "What day is it?"

_“I would suggest that you calm down and try to think straight.”_

Ed gasps audibly, and quickly turns his back on the mirror, hoping to god he imagined it.

_“Look, I know this isn’t really our thing anymore, we’ve kinda been living more harmoniously, but the edges of your insanity are already starting to fray and it’s been what - twenty-eight days?” _Ed takes a steadying breath and turns to face his reflection, and finds that familiar smirking doppelgänger there. _“This how we go through last time and this is how we’ll get through now.”_

“Oswald will come for me.”

_“Oh, _**_I_**_ know that - but you don’t, not completely.” _Other-Ed says. _“You’ve been doubting, doubting how he feels about us. That’s very you, always so insecure.”_

“I don’t need you anymore.” Ed shakes his head and covers his eyes. “I - we - we figured this out!”

_“Yes, and then the city got torn apart, and we got Oswald’s eye ripped out and you **both** forgot that you only work as a _**_two_**_.” _He holds up two fingers. _“You’re only here because you stopped looking out for each other like you’re supposed to, and I am going to fix that before it’s too late.”_

“_We_ can fix it.” Ed says, sounding a little desperate.

_“Maybe.” _Other-Ed shrugs. _“But, just a heads up, if I have to take over to get us out of here, I will. You’re looking a kind of like the old little Eddie Nygma to me.”_

And he sees his reflection return to himself, and sees what his subconscious is saying. His nose is red, his hair greasy and glasses askew. He feels like he did the first time he was here, like the last few years have never happened. He feels like aweak little boy. He does not feel like the Riddler.

* * *

Oswald feels like he is going to have to start using his cane again soon. The leg brace is still doing its job, but it’s almost winter, and he can already feel the ache going through his knee when he gets out of the car. It could not feel less important now though, as he marches through the front door of the GCPD flanked by a large group of his people. Two open his doors for him with a slam, and as has happened many times, every head in the bullpen turns to face him. 

“Jim!” He calls loud, up to that elevated office above the rest. “I need to talk to you!” 

The office door opens quicker than he expects, and Jim Gordon comes out and steps up to the balcony barrier. 

“What is it, Penguin?” He asks impatiently, as if he doesn’t know. Oswald smiles and tries his best to keep a lid on his temper. 

“It is quite imperative that I speak to you, now.” He calls across the room full of concerned looking cops. "Given that the last 10 times I have been here you have been otherwise occupied."

Avoiding him, not answering the phone, clearly staying somewhere other than his home according to the people Oswald has had attempting to follow him. 

“You can come up and talk to me in my office like anyone else, Penguin, no need for the performance. Your men can wait down there.” He turns his back, and steps into his office, closing the door behind him. Oswald purses his lips and tries his best to keep from smashing something. Who does he think he is, treating him like he is being called up to the principal's office? 

He turns to the man at his shoulder. “If you see one person in here try to put cuffs near me, shoot them, badge or no badge.” Oswald says it loud enough for the cops nearest to hear intentionally, before marching through them, brushing past their desks. 

The bullpen is quiet as he marches up the stairs to Jim’s office, phones ringing and ringing until the caller gives up. Oswald still likes inspiring this kind of fear in people. 

He doesn’t knock, just opens the door and steps inside. 

“Commissioner Gordon.” He says, with obviously fake deference. 

“Penguin.” He responds tightly. 

Apparently he doesn’t call him ‘Oswald’ anymore. Fine.

“Shall we skip the discussion and just get to the part where you let Ed out of Arkham?” He says impatiently, not bothering to sit and instead leaning his fingertips on Jim’s desk. 

“That’s not going to happen, Penguin.” He says stoically, not even looking at him and instead rearranging files on his desk. 

“Stop calling me that!” Oswald snaps, his hold on his temper and emotion rapidly slipping out of his fingers. Jim looks at him then, at least.

“That’s your name isn’t it?” Jim crosses his arms on the desk, expression absolutely unreadable. “That’s what everyone else calls you.”

“Yes, but you’re only calling me it to pretend we don’t have any history, so you can feel alright about the fact that you took Ed away from m- took him away to Arkham.” He says harshly. “Aren’t you, _Jim_?”

Jim looks at him wearily, Oswald knows he’s listening from the look in his eye though, a little spark he recognises as telling him he’s getting through, somewhat. He lets out a long breath, and leans forward on the desk. 

“You must have known this was coming eventually. Ed is a _murderer_, and he terrorises people with his insane games every chance he gets. I’m the Commissioner, am I just supposed to ignore all that? Did you really think I would?” He asks him, and Oswald swallows, throat dry. 

“It’s not as simple as that.” Oswald says finally. “And you know it. You had no interest in putting cuffs on him when he stood up on those battlements and helped save the city.” 

“That was a different time.” Jim says. “Maybe, if he’d acted differently after, I could have let what he’d done in the past slide, chalked it up to him not being in his right mind. But I don’t think he’s ever in his right mind.” He picks up a paper from many on his desk and holds it up. “An organ that will electrocute you if you play the wrong note; sending a cop on a scavenger hunt to find his kidnapped partner; gassing a charity benefit to rob the guests, not quite as clever-”

“I get it!” Oswald snaps, because he already _knows, _about most of them anyway. “But he is _not_ insane.” 

“Is that better? If he does these things sane?” Jim asks, and strikes Oswald quiet again, lips clamping shut. “I remember Ed from before, something snapped in his mind, he needs to be in Arkham.”

“Arkham is a hellhole!” Oswald can’t help himself raising his voice a little. “You know that full well, he will lose his mind if you keep him in there.” 

“It’s being reformed.” He says simply, setting the pile of papers down.

Oswald scoffs at that. “Oh, please. That place should have been levelled years ago.” He collects himself, feeling his pulse thrum in his neck. “And I am not having a _debate_ with you. Let him out, that’s it.”

“I will not let a dangerous man out on the streets because you ask me to, Penguin.” Jim says. “And before you make any threats, I’ll remind you that you’re coming up to first election cycle since the city lockdown - you’ve got to get past what your constituents remember of how you treated them in the war zone, any violence that you might be considering isn’t going to play well either.”

The fact that Jim thinks he is outfoxing him irks him greatly, and he can see he is getting nowhere. Fuck being the Mayor, if he can’t have Ed at his side he doesn’t want it. He opts not to say that aloud though. He has trouble with saying too much when he's enraged like this. With a breath, he stands and straightens his suit jacket, giving Jim a last cold stare before turning his back on him.

“You’re better at covering tracks than Ed.” Jim says flatly, and Oswald pauses with his hand on the door handle. “But as soon as I can prove the things you’ve done and find enough people to speak against you, I’ll put the cuffs on you too.” 

Oswald hates it, but he feels hurt, that Jim doesn’t seem to have one ounce of kinship for him, that he can speak to him this coldly, even after all these years. He supposes he can’t blame him, really, but… Still. How often had they saved one another’s life?

“Do you remember when you were so desperate so save Falcone, a murdering mob boss, because you were so sure he was the only thing holding the city together?” Oswald does not turn to face Jim, just tilts his head a little. “Whether or not I’m Mayor, whether or not I’m this evil person you think I am, that you think Ed is, I _do_ hold this city together. I am ten times the man Falcone was, and ten times the people will turn against you and every cop in this city if you put me in jail.” 

Oswald does turn to face Jim then, feeling a strange calm come over him. “And there is _nothing_ I won’t do to bring Ed back to me.” 

When Oswald steps out of the GCPD again, he breaths in a good lungful of the cold air, and knows for a fact how frigid Ed’s cell will be. With a shiver, he gets into his car and allows his driver to slam the door shut. 

“So?” Victor Zsasz is waiting for him in the backseat. 

“No luck.” Oswald responds tightly. “Plan B it is.” 

* * *

Visiting day comes, and Ed practically trips over his feet when he is led out of his cell and down the hall. Other than therapy sessions in which he says nothing and looks at his fingers, Ed has barely been out of his cell, and is growing very familiar with the chipped paint of the wall beside his bunk and all the names and messages carved there. 

There aren’t any phones in here, and he’s not been here long enough for letter privileges, so this will be the first time he has heard from Oswald, never mind seen him. If he shows up. 

_“He’ll show up.” _Other-Ed is walking behind him, he can feel him at his shoulder. 

Ed almost can’t believe Oswald hasn’t managed to get him out yet, he’s been waiting, anxious and sick, expecting at any moment for that cell door to open and a guard to take him to freedom. It’s let his thoughts run away from him, including the horrible idea that he has been forgotten already. 

_“You’re being paranoid.” _

As soon as he steps into the waiting visiting room, he feels his heart rate finally settle to a non-racing pace. Oswald is sitting at the table, hands clasped in front of him, looking just as pale and drawn as Ed feels. He looks thinner, too, but his eyes shine when he sees Ed walk in. 

_“See?”_

Ed tries not to run to him, and keeps himself steady as he crosses the room to sit in the chair across from him. That’s when he knows how ridiculous he’d been, to think Oswald wouldn’t come, to think he could have forgotten about him. Oswald looks at Ed like he loves him, still, like he always has. 

He immediately puts his hands over Oswald’s cold ones, knowing he can get away with a little more, despite the guard’s presence, given the person visiting him. Ed's legs are long enough so his knees touch Oswald's too, and he wishes he could bury his face in his shoulder. He looks clean, with his quaffed hair and pressed suit, and it makes Ed keenly aware of the feeling of grease in his hair and the smell of his under arms. 

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Ed breathes, voice slightly rough from days of speaking to no-one but himself.

“Of course I-” Oswald holds Ed hand in his own, squeezes it tightly so Ed feels some of that knot in his stomach begin to relax. “I am so sorry, if I hadn’t been such an ass that night you never would have-”

“_I’m_ sorry, for hiding that place from you, for doing things you didn’t know about I just… I got careless.”

“Shh.” Oswald runs his thumb over Ed’s knuckle. “You don’t have to be sorry, and we can talk about everything when you get out, and you will get out, I’m going to get you out.” He speaks quickly, they don’t have a lot of time.

“Do you promise?” Ed asks, and damnit, his voice breaks. He really is not himself right now. “I can’t be in here, Oswald.” 

Oswald looks taken aback for a moment and Ed can see why, usually he is not the cryer in the relationship. But he feels soft, and frightened, and the smell of Oswald’s cologne alone is putting a lump in his throat.

“I’d take you out right now if I didn’t know Jim Gordon was looking for any excuse to lock me up too. One of us has to be on the outside to help the other.” Oswald says, fingers rubbing his comfortingly. “But I’m working on it, I’m not thinking about anything else, not sleeping. I'm close.”

“I know.” Ed says, feeling the guilt coming off Oswald for being free while Ed is not. He cannot feel the presence of his other self, probably because he’s not needed now Oswald is here and Ed can actually think straight. 

But he feel the needs to tell him anyway, keeping secrets does not work out for them.

“I’m - I’m seeing it again - me - that hallucination I used to get of that other side of me, since being in here.” He doesn’t look at Oswald, he doesn’t want to see his expression. “I don’t think I can take being locked up as The Riddler… I think I have to separate that side of my self to keep from going truly insane.” 

There is a long moment of quiet, and finally Ed realises he is going to have to look at Oswald. 

“You’re disappointed.” He says, with a shake of his head. “I’m pathetic without him, the Riddler.” 

“You're not pathetic, and you _are_ the Riddler.” Oswald says immediately, looking at him firmly. “But that doesn’t mean you have to feel like it all the time.”

Ed feels his eyes welling up. “I need to feel like him to get myself out of here.”

“_I’m_ going to get you out of here.” Oswald says, leaning very close to him and looking him dead in the eye. “Soon, okay? Just leave it to me, please.”  
  
Ed finds that hard, putting his life in the hands of someone else, especially when the threat of imprisonment hangs over Oswald’s head too.

“Please, Ed, just leave it to me and don’t let this place make you forget who you are. Your whole self.” Oswald squeezes his hands tight, and lowers his voice. “I will get you out of here, no matter what.” 

Oswald could clearly care even less about the guard than Ed, because he leans over and presses his forehead against his, weaves his fingers into the back of his hair.   
  
“Do you hear me, Ed? And when you’re out we are not getting separated again.” His breath ghosts Ed’s lips and he fights the urge to whimper.

“Okay, I believe you.” Ed says, and kisses him softly, which he might have guessed would be a push too far. Ed feels a tear run down his cheek and he sniffs.

“Hey!” The guard calls sharply from the door, and they separate from the mouth after a second, but Oswald keeps hold of the back of Ed’s hair, tip of his sharp nose still against Ed’s cheek.

“I love you.” Ed says quietly. 

“I love you too.” Oswald quickly responds on a whisper, and pecks Ed’s lips again before anyone can stop him; their time is up anyway.

Ed desperately does not want to get up from the chair when the guard tugs on his arm and urges him to his feet, but he does. He knows Oswald well enough to recognise when he is trying not to cry, but he gives him a small smile, and a reassuring nod that he will see him soon.

The door opens and Ed is led out, he doesn’t look back, because the last thing he wants is to actually openly cry in front of all these people.

He is lead down the hallway, and realises that he is turned off in a direction other than his cell.

“I don’t have therapy today.” Ed says, and gets no response, just nudged to keep walking down the hallway with the hand on his arm. The guard opens a door for him and waits for him to step inside before closing it behind him. The room looks more clinical, not like the offices his psychoanalysis is usually conducted in. There is a doctor sitting there, mask over her face, and a worn looking medical chair sits in the middle of the room.

“Please sit down, Mr Nygma.” She says, and Ed rubs his fingertips together nervously. He looks up, expecting to see the other him there, urging him to fight against what she says, but he does not appear. Ed has put his trust in Oswald, he just needs to get through this, for now.

He sits down, realises there are straps on the arms and hopes she does not decide to use them, he won’t be able to keep a hold of himself then. 

“You look distressed, Mr Nygma.” She says, voice half obstructed by the mask over her mouth and eyes shining behind her glasses. She sounds older, Ed can’t really make out her age but there are wisps of grey hair at her temples. 

“Perhaps because I have no idea why I am here and there is a guard outside liable to strap me to this chair while a woman whose face I can’t see fills a syringe with…” Ed sniffs the air, tries to get a whiff of whatever that vial of clear liquid the woman is now holding is. “Midazolam? Are you knocking me out?”

He tries his best not to panic, imagines that Oswald is here, squeezing his hand. This would be somuch easier if he was just the Riddler, he could knock her out and run out of here, get captured by the guard… Dragged back. Her eyes flicker to him in surprise. 

“Guards have been reporting high levels of agitation from you, talking to yourself, pacing the room at all hours.” 

“Me and everyone else in here.” He feels himself shuffling to the edge of the seat, away from her. “I haven’t been violent or obstinate or-”

“Well, given your reputation, I have been instructed to attempt to keep you in a… calmer state, for now.” She flicks the tube of the syringe, squeezes a bit of the liquid out of the hypodermic needle. 

Ed grips the arms of the seat, looks at the door, and at the metal tray beside her that would make a satisfying noise if he hit her over the head with it.

“Now,” she says, “give me your arm.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There won't be too long a wait for the next chapter guys - I can't wait to get these lads back together.


	3. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is longer than the first two put together, sorry, I got a little carried away! 
> 
> NSFW content ahead like _seriously.___

Ed keeps his fingers threaded on his lap, posture straight in the chair across from the psychologist who has been working on him since he got here. He keeps his answers vague, knowing not to give these people an centimetre of entry into his mind.  He still feels groggy, because they keep sedating him, leaving him in his room and only rousing him for food or therapy sessions. His mouth tastes odd, and he desperately wants a bath - not the cold, short showers he is afforded here. 

The doctor is nice enough, somewhat competent at her job but in way over her head to think she could make any kind of an impact on his psyche. 

“I was told you were somewhat of a peacekeeper when you were last in here, quite good at solving problems between the other inmates.” She says, and Ed does not reply, just sips his styrofoam cup of over sweetened tea - his reward for actually sitting here. “Did you ever consider a career in psychoanalysis?”

The doctor is smiling at him warmly, hoping being gentle will eke a response out of him. 

“No.” Is all Ed says.

“You always imagined you would work in forensics, then?” 

Ed really didn’t imagine himself working anywhere, not in particular, he just knew he would have to be somewhere that would actually let him use his brain. He’d always found the human body to be a particularly fascinating puzzle.

“Okay…” She clearly surpasses the urge to sigh and turns over the page in her notebook, looking for a different tact to take. “Tell me about Oswald Cobblepot.” 

Ed’s eyes snap to her then, he really did not know that that relationship was part of his file, and he wonders how extensive it is. He definitely won’t give her anything on that. 

“You’re close friends, yes?” She says, and he doesn’t sense any suggestiveness in her tone. The idea of anyone calling the two of them ‘very close friends’ makes him smile a bit to himself, images flickering through his head including but not limited to sitting in behind Oswald’s desk in the Iceberg Lounge while he rides him delirious.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.” She says brightly. “Can I assume I was correct in saying the two of you are close?” 

He almost feels annoyed at her for pulling him out of his reverie and back into this dreary place. “Are you going to ask me if I’m close with all my Known Associates list?”

Damnit, talking, he shouldn’t be talking.

“No,” she chuckles gently, “but you are his Chief of Staff, yes? People even speculate that you live together.” 

“Do they?” He responds, crossing his legs and looking at her more closely. She can’t hide her surprise that he seems to be engaging him in conversation, she really isn’t very good at this. “All the things for people to talk about in Gotham and they choose _that_.” 

“Is it true?” She asks, and leans forward to pour him another cup of tea. Ed does laugh a bit then, and accepts the cup.

“That’s none of your business.” He says, taking a sip.

“Everything you say in here is under the strictest confidence, Edward, nothing is going to be recorded or used against you.” 

“Well, the last time I was here, someone was making literal monsters in the basement, and now I am being involuntarily sedated every hour for no reason, so excuse me if I don’t entirely trust you there, doc.” He smiles. She at least has the decency to look a little guilty, and nods in understanding. 

Ed can’t deny it though, he quite likes the fact that he and Oswald have a reputation. He knew about the gossip but it being down on paper, in his record, it gives him a little thrill. It only makes him more excited to see him again.

* * *

The Van Dahl Mansion is as good a place as any to plan, once Oswald finally manages to get the people together he needs. He can’t deny being somewhat spooked at Jim’s threat of arrest, and he is quite sure he doesn’t even know that this place exists.

“Anyone else feeling a little nostalgic?” Zsasz says brightly, standing at the opposite end of the table to Oswald. “Old gang back together.”

“Be quiet.” Fries says impatiently, still in that strange suit and apparently no closer to finding a cure for his condition. Clearly why he had been quick to snap up the chance of a hefty payday from Oswald. “Are we all clear on the plan or not?”

“Yes, Victor, thank you.” Oswald looks down at the large map spread over the dining table. “Once again: Under cover of night is best. The front gate is the only way for us to enter, but we will do so after Zsasz has sniped the two guards who stand at said gate.” Zsasz nods in acknowledgement. “After which two of my men will scale the wall and unlock it from the other side. I have found a talented hacker who will be able to shut down the security system remotely, but that will lock down the doors. Thankfully, Mr Free - _Fries_,” Oswald clears his throat, quickly correcting himself, “has had time to produce a good cache of his cryogenic grenades, so that we may smash through a wall on the bottom floor and let ourselves in.” 

“Why am I here again?” Selina Kyle lounges in one of the chairs, looking bored, legs hanging over the arm. 

Oswald frowns at her. “_Shh_ \- You’re breaking my concentration, I’ll get to you.” He waves her off. “Ed’s cell is on the 5th Floor, and while the security system will be down, we’ll still only have a limited amount of time to make our way up to him. I would prefer not to kill nurses and doctors if it can be avoided, but guards that try to stop us are another matter.”

“Can I keep one?” Zsasz asks with a dark smile. “To play with?”

“Not this time, no. The only reason we’re not going right now is that Jim is looking for any reason to throw me in jail, we cannot leave a trace.” Oswald says firmly. Zsasz looks a little disappointed, but concedes.

“They’re gonna know it’s you though, right?” Selina says like it’s obvious. “I mean, duh, who else would go to this much trouble to get _that guy_ out?”

Oswald sighs impatiently. “The police knowing it’s me and the police being able to _prove_ it’s me are two entirely different matters. Which is why we will be in and out before any of them show up.”He pulls his cigarette and holder out of his inner jacket pocket and lights one, feeling better than he has in weeks. It's a good plan. 

He will have Ed back tonight, he knows it. 

“Keeping Jim Gordon off our backs once we let him out of there is why I’ve invited you here.” He gestures to Selina and takes a long drag. “Now, if we’re all clear on the plan, gentlemen, I’ll see you at 1am.” 

Fries and Zsasz both nod, before leaving the room. Oswald is glad, he was beginning to shiver at the chill emanating out of Fries’ suit. When the two men leave, Zsasz making pleasant conversation with a largely unresponsive Fries, Selina looks at him expectantly, tilting her head.

“You gonna let me in on what I’m here for now?” She asks, moving smoothly from her seated position in the chair to sit cross-legged on his table, he frowns at her, but she shrugs like she has no intention of moving. 

“I don’t need you to come to Arkham with me, but I would like you to do a job for me at the same time as the breakout."

“You gonna pay me?” She asks flatly. 

“Of course, handsomely, if you have confidence that you can do the job.” He takes other drag of his cigarette and leans on the table, taking some weight off his leg.

“And the job is…”  


“I need you to break into the GCPD and steal every shred of evidence that Jim Gordon has on Edward and I.” He says. “Do you think you can do that?”

“I can break into the GCPD no problem, that place is basically a cardboard box, but that sounds a like a _lot_ of files to search through, bird-man.” She says. “Picking the place apart top to bottom, including Gordon’s office? That’s a lot for one night.”

“But can it be done?” He asks impatiently. 

“If you’re willing to pay for a couple of my friends to help me out, yeah, I can do that.” She says, slinking off the table. She really _does_ move like a cat, it’s uncanny. Picking up an apple from the bowl on the table, she considers him a second. “You _have_ thought about the fact that computers exist now, right? Gordon probably has all your files digitally too.” 

“Oh, this hacker I have found is very talented - not that I understand any of what he says… It’s more than covered, is my point. As soon as you’ve done your part I will be practically a monk according to the evidence against me.” He chuckles a little. “It’s quite neat, don’t you think?”

“I guess.” Selina says, and takes bite of the apple, sounding not one bit impressed. “Perfect opportunity to run away if you think about it, change your names, get a job in a library or something.”

“Hilarious.” Oswald seats himself at the head of the table and stretches his leg out. “But no, I'm just going to do a better job at watching both our backs. Gotham belongs to us, not the damn GCPD. We absolutely are not running away.” 

“If you say so,” Selina shrugs and tosses him her half-eaten apple while she walks to the window, he catches it before realising what he’s done, and drops it on the table in disgust, palm sticky, “just make sure to invite me to the wedding when he gets out.” 

She opens the window, and seats herself on the ledge for a moment.

“You can just use the door!” He protests, but it’s too late, she has already slid out and vanished out of sight. With a sigh, Oswald stands and goes to the bar to dampen a cloth with the jug of water there and clean off his hand. 

Oswald pulls his mind back to tonight, because he is definitely _not_ going to let a teenager’s joke put any ideas about marriage in his head. 

… He can’t really see either of them in a church, or a courthouse even but…

No. Work still to do. 

He leaves his dining room into the vast open reception area and looks around. It hadn’t occurred to him how much he missed this place before now, it had been his first real home since losing his mother, the first place he had lived under the same roof with Ed - well, the first place he’d done _a lot _of things with Ed. Oswald looks up the wooden staircase, and thinks of how nice it might look in a couple of months with Christmas decorations wrapped around the bannister, maybe a new grand piano in the drawing room.

“Do you need me for anything, sir?” Benoit asks, stepping out of the temporary office he and his people have set up in the kitchen. 

“Yes, make sure the maid has the master bedroom prepared, and get a doctor here, god knows what they’ve been giving him in there, I want him checked out.” Benoit nods. He’s rather an unremarkable looking man: average height, olive skinned, usually found in a plain black suit, but Oswald supposes recognisability would be a detriment when working for him. He’s competent, never has to take notes and rarely fails. 

“Eye drops, this thing is killing me. And keep working on security in this place, once the authorities inevitably find out about it I want somewhere outside the city that is impenetrable. It was foolish for us not to think of this sooner.” 

“Right away, Mr Penguin.” Benoit nods and begins to walk away. 

“Also - arrange a car to take me into the city, just for an hour or two.” 

“Of course sir, anywhere in particular?”

“High Street, there are some things I might like to buy.”

* * *

One, two three, one, two, three - that’s all Ed can do, tap his his chest in sets of threes with the fingers on his right hand. A few hours ago, when he had first woken up, he tried to move his legs, but had quickly found that to be fruitless. He keeps falling into unconsciousness, dreaming every time, things that are frightening, or strange. Sometimes his mind will take him to that moment when the explosion had taken Oswald’s eye, his scream and the blood, and he’ll wake up sweating, but unable to even get up and splash cold water on his face. He remembers shooting him and pushing him in the river, yelling at each other and slamming the door. He would cry, but his body doesn’t even seem to be able to do that.

All he can do is lie there, limp, and glad only for the fact that the other side of him can’t take over his body if his body isn’t working. 

When he feels drool run down his chin, he screams internally, wishes he could do the same out loud, and tries to clench his fist. His fingers just twitch, and he can feel it again, unconsciousness taking over his mind... he can do nothing but slip into it. 

Somewhere in the haze, he thinks he hears a loud bang, but it really could be anything in this place, so he doesn’t fight the sleep. 

He’s still dreaming, though half awake, but can’t keep a hold of any coherent thought, just flashes of images, all quite violent - fighting and gunfire.

It’s the sound of thundering footsteps that finally gets him, panicked yelling right outside his door that is too real to be in his head. He tries to sit up, but find he can’t do more than lift his head, which swims when he does.

God, he just wants to sleep, he can’t countenance doing anything else. His head drops back on the pillow, and he feels his eyes slip shut in spite of the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. He’s going to be sick; he hopes he doesn’t choke on his vomit before he finds out what’s going on outside.

He thinks he hears Oswald’s voice, so it must be a dream, and he thinks he hears Fries’ cryo-gun too. Very strange. Behind his eyelids, in his dream state, he sees the man point the gun at him, freeze him in a huge block of ice. He’s glad he’s never found out how that feels. 

When the door to his cell bursts open, he jumps harshly and squints over at the open door, just about able to make out the pointy black shape stumbling through.

“Ed!” It’s Oswald, he thins it’s really him, but he can’t fight the drugs in his system, even when he feels two cold hands at either side of his head and smells that familiar musky smell of his cologne, he can feel himself dropping away. 

“Oswald…” He thinks he says, but he can’t be sure if it was just a meaningless slur. 

*** *** 

There is no way that Oswald could carry Ed out of here, he’s deceptively solidly built as well as gangly. So Oswald stays on the heels of the tall henchman he has carry him, Fries following closely and watching his flank. Most staff have had the sense to clear out of the hospital now, after the gunshots and seeing their frozen solid colleagues in the halls. 

Oswald’s heart is beating hard. He looks at Ed’s head dangling over the man’s arm, limp, a bit of drool on the corner of his mouth and eyes occasionally flickering open before rolling closed. They could have given him anything in this place. Who knows how long he’ll be like this for?  
  
He tries to remain calm, and checks his watch; they’re pushing it, but they’ve got time before security eventually trips and the authorities arrive. They step out of the hole Fries had blasted in the wall, and run for Oswald’s waiting car.

“Put him in the back, and all of you split up, do _not_ return to the mansion.” He reminds them, opening the back door. The guard does as he’s told, and lays Ed across the back seat as gently as possible, knowing how closely Oswald is watching him.

He turns to face Fries. 

“The car behind mine will take you back to your warehouse, thank you for your help.” He holds his hand out, and Fries shakes it with a nod, Oswald wincing slightly at the unpleasant feel of his hand. “The money will be brought to you by Friday.” 

“Good working with you again, Penguin.” Fries says as he goes to his car, and Oswald stops in his tracks just for a second, wondering if that’s the most he’s ever heard him say at once. 

“You too.” He says. It's true, Fries always has been a competent person to work with. He has no time to dwell though, he quickly gets in the back with Ed. 

His driver sets off immediately, weaving through the streets just over the speed limit, but not so much as to draw unwanted attention. Oswald is seated by Ed’s head, and he lifts it to rest on his lap, hands shaking when he feels his forehead.

He is clammy, sweat making his hair damp, and when Oswald feels the pulse in his neck, he finds it sluggish and slow. 

“We’re going home now, Ed.” He breaths, stroking his hair away from his face. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” 

Ed murmurs something in his unconscious state, so Oswald thinks he can probably hear him. He lets out a breathless little laugh and continues to stroke his hair, eyes stinging with tears.

“I’ve got a comfortable bed waiting for you, fresh clothes, and I’ll run you a bath, alright? When you’re feeling better.” Tears break down his cheeks. Mostly, he’s just happy to be able to touch him again. 

Oswald makes sure it isn’t too obvious he was crying when he gets out of the car, and helps the henchman lift Ed out, his long legs making that rather difficult to position him properly. Benoit rushes out to meet them; the place is strangely quiet, after the chaos of the asylum, but Oswald is quite sure that they haven’t been followed.  
  
“The doctor is waiting inside Mr Cobblepot, and the police scanner only picked up on the breakout just before you arrived.” Benoit says in a hushed tone.

“Good, that’s good news.” They make their way inside quickly, and Oswald could not feel more relieved than when they step inside and close the door behind them.

Ed is inside, safe. 

Oswald watches as he is lowered onto the chaise lounge in the drawing room, back propped up slightly. The doctor approaches, opening her medical bag and immediately getting to work. She shines a light in his eyes, feels his pulse, looks in his mouth.

“What’s wrong with him?” Oswald asks, trying his very best to sound authoritative and not panicked. 

“I believe he’s been sedated, nothing too severe.” She responds, taking a syringe and filling it up with something. “I’m going to give him a mild stimulant to level it out, he’ll still sleep, but when he wakes up he should have all his faculties back.” 

“Are you sure?” Oswald asks a little too quickly, watching her peel back his sleeve to inject his forearm. Ed murmurs in his sleep, glasses askew, so Oswald goes to him to remove them and place them neatly on the side table. 

“Quite sure.” She says. “Arkham isn’t like it used to be, I doubt they’ve been pumping him with anything experimental or sinister. They likely just wanted to keep him docile.” 

Oswald isn’t reassured; that he might have been in this passed out state since the last time he saw him fills him with a mix of rage and guilt. And it builds every time he sees Ed flinch in his sleep, deep in the dark of a frightening drug-induced dream. He remembers being in Arkham, tortured, the kind of horrifying nightmares he would had because of the madness that had seeped into the walls of that place.

All because Jim Gordon needed to prove a point. 

“When do you think he’ll wake up?” 

She regards Ed for a moment, listening to his heart through her stethoscope before standing up straight. “2-3 hours, at most, I would say. Any more than 5 and we’ll have to look at something else to wake him up, but I really can’t see that happening.” 

“There are some things I need to do, so I would like you to stay in case he wakes up while I’m gone.” Oswald says, because he’s having trouble not letting the anger building in his stomach and chest get away from him. 

“Of course, Mr Penguin.” She says dutifully, and Oswald nods to her before leaving the room. Benoit is waiting in the hallway. Oswald is concocting a plan in his mind, it's half formed and probably mostly motivated by little more than emotion, but he feels it is something he has to do. 

“What’s the word on the police scanner?” He asks Benoit. 

“They’re aware that Dr Fries must be involved given the state of the scene, but don’t seem to have any idea of where to locate him, your name has not been mentioned yet. For now, they’re mostly panicking about the other escapees who got out in the melee.” He responds. 

“Good.” Oswald nods, and lets out a breath. “What about Selina Kyle?”

“Successful, so she says, she will be here with the documents in the morning, I have her cash ready. The digital copies of Commissioner Gordon’s evidence against you and Mr Nygma have also been expunged.” He says, and gives him a rare small smile. “You’ve had a very successful night, sir.” 

“Indeed.” Oswald says, but cannot enjoy the victories yet - the night isn’t over. “Please get me my coat, and have someone bring my car around.” 

“Should I have your driver return, sir?”

“No, this is something I would prefer to do alone.” Oswald says, knowing that Benoit is smart enough not to ask any questions. “And aside from the doctor and the guards on the main gate everyone can be dismissed for the night, including you.” 

“Are you sure, sir?”

“Yes,” Oswald says, because being back here has given him the desire to be alone with Ed again, finally, “get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Mr Penguin.” He says, before going to get Oswald his coat as requested. 

* * *

Kidnapping Jim is remarkably easy, all it takes is firing off a few shots in the alley beside his home, knowing that the good cop will have to come out and investigate. Despite the ease, it's still satisfying, the look on his face, and for a moment Oswald is angry and caught up enough to consider pulling the trigger then and there. That would show him, wouldn't it? But Jim Gordon won't be dying, not yet, anyway. 

He takes him to that familiar pier, the place where he had been reborn more than once - he supposes Ed’s flare for the dramatic really has rubbed off on him, and he delights at the way Gordon tries to talk him out of it on the way. Fear. It's making _him_ babble for a change. He can almost see himself, from all those years ago, shaking and covered in blood, begging for his life. Jim must regret showing him that mercy now. 

Oswald makes him stand there, like he had once, hands up his his pyjama bottoms and old t-shirt. He looks cold and pathetic. Oswald is glad for that, too. 

“What are you doing, Oswald?” He asks, looking at him grimly. Somehow, he barely shivers, despite the bitter air that is biting Oswald’s cheeks.

“What does it look like?” He snaps back. “Did you not think this might happen when you took Ed?” 

“I didn’t kidnap him, Oswald, he’s been put where he belongs for his crimes.” He says. “And killing me isn’t going to get him out.”

Oswald laughs at that, heartily. “No, it won’t.” He shakes his head. “Because I already _did_ get him out, just now.”

Jim frowns, taken aback. Oswald keeps laughing, cocking his head at him. “I’m sure they would have told you in the morning, and you would have come straight to me.” He says. “Thought I might just tell you now and save you the trouble.” 

“You’re making a big mistake - one of many you’ve made tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, _old friend._" The bitterness pours out of him at the betrayal, at the years they've known each other that mean nothing to Jim "I think the mistake was thinking that you actually were a person of honour, a person that would remember people who have saved his life, went to the madhouse for him, saved the _city_, more than once!”

“I put criminals in jail - history or no history.” Jim responds. 

Oswald almost cackles at that, the cold wind whipping the ends of his hair into his eye. “What about Barbara!? Are you going to go after her for all the things _she’s_ done? Or does your sympathy only extend to people you’ve fucked?” Oswald spits, gun shaking in his hand. Jim grimaces and looks at the ground, so Oswald knows that hit the mark, he grins bitterly. "Is that what I had to do to get your respect, Jim? All you had to do was ask!"

“Stop." He says firmly, and again, Oswald feels a satisfaction in needling him. "You’re not going to kill me, Oswald.” He says, clearly having no response to that accusation. 

“Oh! It’s _Oswald_ now, is it? Now that I’m the one in the driver’s seat!?” Oswald bites. “Well too late, _Commissioner_, you wanted the Penguin and you’ve got the Penguin.”  
  
“You killing me won’t change anything, you’re still criminals, and there are still cops who’ll come after you for what you’ve done.”  
  
“Oh, I know that, the battle lines have been drawn now.” Oswald says. “But it will take you _years_ to accrue that kind of evidence against us again, if you ever manage to.” He laughs bitterly. “Oh yes, that’s destroyed too.”

Jim closes his eyes and shakes his head.

“But if our years of friendship don’t convince you that you might want to back off Ed and I, remember this: I know where you live, I know where your wife lives _and_ your child.” He says with venom, and Jim looks shocked. “You love them, I know that, because I understand how that feels now. _Love_. How successful do you think you will be at rebuilding Gotham after I take away everything that means something to you? After I break your heart?”  
  
“Don’t threaten my family.” Jim growls.  
  
“Then don’t take mine away from me again!” Oswald yells, feeling spit on his lip and the desire to cry.   
  
There is a long moment where Jim looks at him, looking genuinely hurt in a way Oswald has rarely seen from him. “You know I can never make that promise, Oswald.”  
  
“Oh, I know.” Oswald says with a manic nod. “I know you’ll keep investigating us, keep _trying_ to pin something on us both and split us up. I just want you to remember what happened the first time you came close.”

With that, and looking him dead in the eye, Oswald lowers the gun, just slightly, and fires off a shot into Jim’s right knee. He screams and falls to the ground, and Oswald never thought that would be so satisfying to him. He really had considered him a friend once.  
  
He walks to him, stands over where he clutches his profusely bleeding leg and groans on the ground.  
  
“You're very strong, so I think you’ll probably survive this.” Oswald rests his shoe on Jim’s side. “So when you find your way back to shore, reconsider where Ed and I sit on your list of priorities..." He takes a breath, and considers him thoughtfully. "I know people wonder about us, and because we're friends, I’ll tell you: we do love each other, more than anything, and this is not the worst thing I am willing to do for him.” With a grunt of effort, Oswald shoves Jim into the water with his foot, the splash wetting the bottom of his trousers.  
  
As expected, he sees him swimming away, and smiles in satisfaction before heading back to his car.

* * *

Ed is alone when he wakes up, and it takes him a little while to realise where he is. Immediately he knows it isn’t Arkham, and wonders for a moment if he’s still dreaming. But he can feel the heat from the roaring fire, and when he touches the velvet of the chaises lounge underneath him, he knows this is real. 

He feels groggy still, but awake, and sits himself up fully. The Van Dahl Mansion, they haven’t been here for a long time. 

“Mr Nygma, I’m glad you’re awake.” A young woman who looks like a doctor steps into the room and walks over to him. “How are you feeling?” 

“Where’s Oswald?” He asks, throat dry. 

“Upstairs.” She stands in front of him, and puts her stethoscope in her ears. Not the warmest beside manner, but Ed could really care less about that. He leans forward so she can slip the end of the instrument into his Arkham scrubs and listen to his heart, the metal cold on his skin. “How are you feeling?” She repeats. 

“Oh, fine.” Ed says, having to do a quick mental analysis of his body to actually figure out how he _does_ feel. “A little nauseous, but nothing too unbearable.”

“Good.” She puts her hands on the sides of his head, and he opens his mouth dutifully so she can shine a light down his throat. “I’m quite sure you’ll feel better after some food and once the drugs are fully flushed from your system. I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“I can do that.” 

Ed had been too distracted to even notice Oswald come into the room, shirt sleeves rolled up and looking well and truly exhausted. His heart races, almost like the first time he’d met him, and he’s glad the doctor is no longer closely listening to it beat.

“Of course, Mr Penguin. If you’re satisfied, I believe you don’t have much more need of me tonight, just make sure do keep him hydrated and fed.” She says, very matter-of-fact, as she collects her bag.

“Yes, you may go,” Oswald says, ushering her out of the door, “thank you for your help.” 

She just gives Ed a curt nod as Oswald escorts her out into the hall, and Ed hears the front door click. 

When Oswald returns to the drawing room, he stands in the doorway and looks at him for a moment. Ed takes a shaky breath and smiles at him. 

“I am so-”

“I just-”

They both start to speak at the same time, and stop and laugh breathlessly. Since words seem to be failing both of them, Oswald crosses the room and kneels down on the floor beside Ed, and kisses him soundly, hand clutching hold of the front of his top and pulling him in close. Ed’s fingers find the back of Oswald’s head and he pulls him closer, makes Oswald giggle when he urges him to climb atop him. He wishes his could get inside his suit with him, seep into his skin. It's been far too long. 

Ed can’t believe how much he has missed this, just the weight of Oswald's body on top of him, and the feel of his lips on his.

“I knew you’d get me out.” He smiles against his mouth. “You’re a genius.” 

“Stop.” Oswald breathes a little chuckle again, and pulls back, face turning concerned. “How are you feeling, really?”

“I feel fine.” Ed says, because other than a headache, he really does. 

“And how is your - are you still…” Oswald clearly doesn’t know how to ask if Ed has gone completely insane and is just hiding it quite well. 

“Myself? Yes, I believe so.” He feels the material of Oswald’s shirt under his fingers and enjoys the smell of him for a moment. “I’m more interested to know how you broke me out.” 

“I'll tell you after - there's a bath waiting for your upstairs.” Oswald climbs off him, and holds out a hand for him to take when he stands. “And I love you, but you really need it.” 

Ed smiles and takes his hand. Truly, he doesn’t think he’s ever been more delighted to know that there is a bath waiting for him. The mansion feels strangely homely, despite the fact they haven't lived here in such a long time. When they get to the master bedroom, he can’t help but look at thebed and think of how that was the first place they had touched one another, it was the first place that Oswald had taken him in his mouth and let him finish that way. 

He shudders. That part of him has been rather suppressed for the past month, under a layer of anxiety and sedation, but the delight of being out and finally getting to see Oswald again is definitely sparking something. 

“It feels like so much longer than four weeks since I last saw you.” Oswald says when they’re in the bathroom, helping him out of his striped shirt, despite not really needing to. Ed doesn’t mind, he doesn’t mind being fussed if he’s the one doing it.

"I know." Ed says. "That place was a haze." 

He drops the dirty item to the ground and pulls off the trousers, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. Steam emanates from the clawfoot tub, and the room smells like something rich and clean and expensive. Now his clothes are off, he has no idea how Oswald was getting so close to him, he truly reeks.

“Have those burned, would you?” He says, kicking the uniform to the side.

“I’ll do it myself.” Oswald says, looking him over as he steps into the tub. “You look thin.” 

“I always do.” Ed says with a small smile, lowering himself into the water and unable to stop himself from audibly groaning aloud at the delightful feeling of the hot, soapy water. His glasses steam up, so he takes them off and places then on the side of the bath.  
  
“Thinner than usual, I mean.” Oswald kneels on the ground with a small wince and picks up a sponge. “Not that I can blame you for rejecting the slop they serve in there.”

“You don’t look like you’ve been eating either.” Ed closes his eyes, and relaxes into the feeling of Oswald running the sponge back and forth across his back. 

“Of course not, my chef’s been in the madhouse.” He says, and Ed chuckles and shakes his head. He's amazed by how quickly the feeling of peace seems to return to him, how quiet his mind already is now. 

“Have you really been so hopeless without me?” He smiles. Oswald gently pushes on his shoulder so he leans back against the edge of the tub and he can wash his chest and neck instead. 

“I have, actually.” Oswald says, not sounding like he’s joking anymore. Ed opens his eyes and looks at him, a frown in his forehead as he works on getting the smell of the asylum out of Ed’s skin.“I really do need you, Ed. I know that I’m a fool and I didn’t always act like it before but I really, really do. It's not a want, it's a need." 

Ed catches Oswald’s wrist where it’s moving and squeezes it slightly, so Oswald will look him in the eye. He has welled up a little, the original and the shocking blue shining behind unshed tears. 

“I need you too.” Ed says, and brings Oswald’s hand up to his mouth so he can kiss his knuckles. “We figured this out a long time ago, didn’t we? I’m not going to be stupid enough to forget it again.” 

“Neither am I.” Oswald shakes his head, voice cracking a bit, before taking a bracing breath and sniffing. “Now lift up your arm, please.”  
  
Ed chuckles again, and Oswald swipes the sponge under his armpit, and then his other. He might have missed these simple intimacies more than anything else, having Oswald’s gentle hands take care of him like this and touch him like he’s some precious thing.

He regards Oswald’s face while he isn’t looking, his sharp nose and his pink lips, the way his ears stick out just a little, his cheekbones, his smile lines, and he finds it hard to remember how they ever managed to drift apart even a little bit. 

They have a lot to talk about: the past month, all the things they have to consider now Ed is a fugitive and Oswald the one harbouring him, how on earth Oswald is going to remain mayor after this; but Ed finds it hard to care about any of it, for tonight, anyway. Oswald washes his hair for him, and only when Ed is pink, and his fingers start to shrivel, is Oswald satisfied that the job is done.

“Oswald.” Ed says, sitting up slightly in the water, feeling soft, like he could melt. When Oswald looks at him, he leans towards him and weaves his wet fingers into the back of his hair, unable to resist kissing him again for another moment. “Your knee must be hurting.” 

“It’s fine.” Oswald responds, and slips his tongue into Ed’s mouth, making him moan and hold onto him tighter. 

“It’s not.” Ed leans further out of the tub and wraps his arms around Oswald’s waist, pulling him into the tub with him with a grunt of effort. He makes a noise of protest that dissolves into a laugh at plunging into the water fully clothed. The tub overflows, sloshing onto the ground, and Ed laughs too before reattaching to Oswald mouth and sinking his hands into the wet material of his trousers. Already, Ed feels himself start to get hard, grinding up against him desperately. 

“I know you’re tired but-” Ed starts. 

“Not that tired.” Oswald answers quickly, pushing Ed’s wet hair away from his face before peppering kisses over his cheek, the dent in his cheek, and his throat. Ed groans and his eyes slip shut again. Talking can absolutely wait for tomorrow. 

They’re both out of the tub soon after, and Oswald’s wet clothes are left strewn over the bathroom and bedroom floor. They lay on the bed beside each other, naked, and kissing languidly, and Oswald shudders when Ed gently nibbles the shell of his ear. 

“God, I love that.” He murmurs. 

“I know what you need sometimes.” Ed says against his ear with faux-smugness. Another soft kiss to his lips, and Oswald rolls his hips against his.

“Do you know what I need right now?” He asks with a mischievous look in his face, a slight shiver going through his body. 

Ed’s hands move under the sheets and down Oswald’s back to his ass, where he squeezes to tug him tighter against him. 

“What you need all the time.” 

“It’s not my fault you look like that.” He says, and peppers kisses on his jaw. Ed slips his middle finger between Oswald’s cheeks and just brushes his entrance with the tip of his finger, to which Oswald lets out a little surprised moan and jolts on top of it. “Or that you know just how to touch me…”

They kiss properly then, a little harder, a little wetter, and Ed teases Oswald’s hole with his fingertips and has him writhing on top of him, his ever growing erection grinding against Ed’s. He won’t push all the way in like this, dry, he just wants to work him up. 

“Or that you have by far the prettiest cock I have ever seen.” Oswald mouths against him, and then sits up, straddling Ed’s thighs to palm him. “I haven’t missed this the _most_ about you, but it’s definitely up there.”

“Pretty?” Ed looks down at it, a little breathless already. “Never heard it called that before.”

Oswald sits back on his haunches to shuffle down the bed, then pushes Ed’s legs apart to kneel between them. Another benefit of his brace and physiotherapy, _kneeling_ is a lot easier for him. 

“So pretty.” He leans down and takes him in hand, strokes him softly a few times to get him fully hard before the wet heat of his mouth envelopes him. Ed’s head drops back and his eyes close, Oswald has been so good at this since the beginning - nobody had even done it for him before, and he suspects Oswald quite likes having ruined him for anyone else. 

He had guiltily imagined what Oswald’s mouth would feel like so many times, and now he knows that heat so well - the smooth glide of his tongue over the tip and even the feeling of the back of his throat. Ed snakes his fingers into the back of Oswald’s inky hair and feels the movement of his head as he starts to bob and suck him properly. 

“Oh god.” Ed throws his forearm over his eyes, because he can’t look at the stretch of Oswald’s pink lips around him or the way he watches his face as he sucks his cock. He doesn’t want it to be over so soon.

“Mm.” Oswald pulls off with an obscene pop and licks the head with the tip of his tongue a few times, making Ed shudder and swell. “I’ve missed you so much it hurts. Will you fuck me, please?” 

“_Gladly_.” Ed pants when Oswald leaves a kiss on his cock and leans back up to peck his lips. “Have you got lube here still?” Even now, Ed blushes a little saying it, he doesn’t know why. 

“Oh, please, I’m not crazy.” Oswald leans over to the worn little side table beside his bed. He opens the bottom drawer and moves aside a stack of old papers, pulling out an almost empty little bottle of translucent pink lubricant. 

“Oswald… Strawberry flavoured?” Ed says, laughing, and thoroughly amused at Oswald’s embarrassed blush. 

“It’s from the last time we were here, I was in a rush and not paying attention to the bottles…” He coat his fingers with the liquid.“It’s not a horrible scent, actually.” He says, and catches his lip between his teeth when he reaches behind to slick himself with the substance. 

A little hitch of his breath and Oswald’s hips cant above him - Ed’s cock twitches on his abdomen when he looks at Oswald’s - pink and eager. 

“Feeling nostalgic?” Ed says, leisurely looking over Oswald’s body: prominent hipbones, chalk white skin, that little belly that’s becoming thicker as he gets older. Ed loves his body. 

“A bit.” Oswald says with a bashful smile. God, Ed hopes they’re never apart again.

“_Does_ it taste like strawberry?” Ed asks, hands rounding Oswald’s perfect ass again and holding him there. Oswald cocks his head at him and leans down to his lips.

“Is that your way of saying you’d like to find out?”

Ed sits up and guides Oswald onto his back, dropping his glasses on the side table before swapping positions so he can kneel between his open legs. He wastes no time in guiding Oswald’s knees up and back, exposing him slicked and bare for him. 

“So nice of you to keep yourself shaved for me.” Ed wryly comments, and feels Oswald quiver. 

“You spend enough time down there, I feel it’s only polite.” He quips back, and Ed smirks to himself and bending down, licks some of the lubrication finding it tastes vaguely of strawberries… but mostly of lube.

_‘Still worth it for that noise he makes.’_

“Aaah - ah.” Oswald’s hips roll under Ed’s hands as he holds him steady when he licks and sucks at him in earnest, his spit mixing with the liquid to make him thoroughly slick and ready. 

It is strange to think about how shy in sex he had been before, Oswald makes him so bold in everything he does, he doesn’t have a shred of bashfulness about this. Nothing matters except making him feel good, feeling him tremble and hearing his sounds.

He can hear Oswald jerking himself while he eats him out and Ed pushes his own hips against the bed for some kind of relief, moving Oswald’s legs higher so he can get to more of him.

“Oh! Shit, Ed.” Oswald hisses in pain, but he’s breathlessly laughing. “Are you trying to fold me in half?”

Sweating and red faced, Ed surges back up his body and kisses him. 

“Sorry, sorry.” He murmurs.  
  
“It’s fine.” Oswald is very flushed now, all the way down his chest. He pulls Ed close, and hooks a leg behind his thigh.

“Ready?” Ed checks, and puts the tip against him.

“Very.” Oswald says impatiently.

Ed likes it face to face, he wants to be able to kiss him and hear everything he says. He keeps his bad leg down on the bed, only slightly bent, but pushes the other up over his forearm to keep him spread while he pushes into him. 

He doesn’t rush, he keeps it steady, watches Oswald’s face as he moans and whimpers, working his own cock in time with Ed. 

Even the creak of the bed is pleasantly familiar, and he grabs hold of the wooden headboard to pick up his pace, deeply pleasured groans escaping his mouth, watching Oswald’s face - his eyes closed, mouth open.

He presses his nose against the side of Oswald’s so he can feel the vibration of his noises on his lips. 

“Fuck,” Oswald shivers, and grips Ed’s hair tighter, “right there.”

“Like this?” He pants, rolling his hips as before.

“Yeah, yeah, yes, ah.” Ed pulls back a bit, leaving one last sloppy kiss on Oswald’s mouth before sitting up more so he can place his hands on the back of Oswald thighs and fuck that spot with more vigour. “_Oh my god_…”

Oswald voice cracks - he tugs his cock faster and watches the movement of Ed’s slipping in and out of him. 

“Are you going to come?” Ed asks, feeling the sweat bead on his forehead. Oswald is too far gone to respond, but Ed wants to hear his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Oswald breathes, and reaches down to grip Ed’s ass, just feeling the movement. “Fuck, _Ed_.” A hot thrum goes through him at the sound of his own name, so wantonly moaned like that, but he keeps going, because Oswald’s sounds are rising to that pitch he knows.

“Do it, baby.” The word even sounds odd to him when he says it, caught up as he is, but it spills from his mouth rough-voiced without thinking. Oswald’s reaction suggests it wasn’t the wrong thing to say though, he jolts, stopping the movement of his hand at the base as he spurts all over his belly with an open-mouthed moan. Thick and white. “Unnngh, oh god, fuck. _So good…_” 

Oswald whines barely audible as he grips the bed frame and rides it out around Ed’s cock. Ed stops moving, just holds himself there and enjoys the way Oswald clenches around him and moves his hips himself, his softening cock twitching on his stomach.  
  
When every drop is spilled on him, Oswald tugs Ed’s hips again, urging him to move.

“Your turn, _baby_.” Oswald says, with a delightfully dirty smile stretching his flushed cheeks. He’s half making fun of him, half trying it on for size, but Ed finds he likes it too. He returns his smile and leans back down to claim his mouth, feeling his balls draw up as he grows closer to the edge. Oswald wraps his legs and arms around Ed and pulls him close, so he can feel the slick of Oswald’s come on his belly as he moves inside him.

“Unless you feel like changing sheets tonight - _mm_ \- you should get creative.” 

At this point, Ed doesn’t care whether he gets to come inside him or not, his ears are buzzing and his mind is hyper focussed on getting to his orgasm, nothing else. Oswald’s arms and legs hold him tight, and he moves more sporadically, chasing that building feeling. 

Oswald is murmuring in his ear, an endless, filthy stream of praise and promises.

“_Your cock feels so good, no one could make me come like you do, please come for me, I want you inside me every day, I can’t fucking get enough of you, baby.”_

“Fuck!” Ed hastily pulls out of Oswald and pants as he sits up on his knees and jerks himself to finish profusely over Oswald’s stomach and chest, and it keeps going for longer than he anticipates, shooting stripes up to his chin, covering him in it. 

His free hand presses against the wall so he can hold himself up over him, quivering, knees shaking. 

“Oh fuck…” Oswald moans appreciatively, breath catching in surprise; he touches the warm liquid on his chest and looks up at Ed, who is still panting and holding his sensitive cock.

“Oh dear.” He breathes, and leans down to kiss him. “I’ve made a mess of you.” 

“It’s alright.” He says into his mouth. “We know we can both fit in the tub.” 

Ed pulls back off him and sits in front of him, red cheeked, sweating. Oswald looks ridiculously debauched, Ed wishes he could take a photo. 

“And to think, when we first met you were calling me ‘sir.’” Oswald says, looking down at the mix of both of their come covering his torso, even wiping fleck off his chin. 

“I still could, if you like.” He smiles.

“Hmm, tempting.” Oswald stands and adjusts the strap on his knee brace. “Maybe some other time.” He goes into the bathroom briefly to clean himself off, and Ed watches him cross the room, naked and unabashed. When he hops onto the bed, he pushes Ed down into the pillows with a hand on his chest, and lies himself down close to his side, head on his chest. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Oswald asks quietly, already sounding like he could fall asleep at any moment. Ed feels the same, bone-deep exhausted and satisfyingly wrung out. 

“Just fine.” Ed replies, and buries his nose in Oswald’s hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun as it is to write the boys apart, I definitely love them even more together. Chapters won't be coming at such a quick rate this week since I'll be back to work, but please do leave comments, they're absolutely my favourite part. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, let's talk at the end. x

Oswald sits on the edge of the bed, stretching and relaxing his braced leg for a few minutes before trying to stand on it - one of those little habits he’s had to develop on the instruction of physiotherapists. It isn’t a surprise to him to find Ed absent from his side of the bed, he has always had trouble sleeping in, while Oswald could happily spend all day dozing. Oswald doesn’t bother dressing when he gets up, just ties on his soft black robe and heads out of the bedroom. 

Waking up after a good night’s sleep feels strange now, he can’t remember the last time he’d slept the whole night through, and the pleasure of it is compounded by waking up here; there’s something peaceful about the old house that he had forgotten, maybe because it was so important to he and Ed. That familiar feeling that has settled in his body is welcome too, that dull, pleasant ache in his thigh muscle where Ed had stretched his leg up, the memory of his teeth in his collarbone, being touched and held is something he's grown used to over recent years. 

As he heads down the stairs on socked feet, he immediately realises where Ed is, because he can smell bacon and hear blues music, both coming from the direction of the kitchen. Oswald realises then that he hasn’t listened to music at all in the past month, so it's almost odd to hear the record spinning. Of course, Ed had also ruined all plans he had of making him breakfast like a proper nursemaid. 

“Ed!” He admonishes as he enters, finding him standing at the glass stove in the kitchen island, facing him with a sheepish smile. “I’m supposed to be doing that for  _ you _ .” 

“But what if I want my first breakfast out of the madhouse to actually taste good?” He jokes with a quirked eyebrow and slides Oswald’s coffee over the marble to him. Oswald scoffs indignantly and rolls his eyes, as if he can deny the truth in it. Cooking is not his forte, eating is. 

Ed is fully dressed because he isn’t one for lounging in his pyjamas either; green sweater rolled to his elbows, slacks and clean apron covering it all, his hair is even perfect, already. Oswald scoops his own away from his face, knowing yesterday’s hair gel will have it sticking up at all ends.

“How are you feeling?” Oswald asks him, leaning his elbows on the counter.

“A lot better than I did yesterday,” Ed says and turns the sizzling meat over in the pan, “quite unpleasant dreams.”

“Did you not sleep?”

“Not much, but I’ve spent a lot of the last few weeks unconscious so I can’t say I really needed it.” He takes the bacon out with tongs and lays it neatly on a plate. “In fact,” a broad smile stretches his face, “I put insomnia to good use.” 

At that familiar grin, Oswald’s interest is piqued, he has definitely missed that smile. Ed holds up a thick, neat stack of papers and hands them to him like he is presenting a school project he is particularly proud of. 

“Plans,” he says, excitement emanating from him, “for your next mayoral campaign. I planned good stops for a campaign trail, worthy charitable organisations to support, I even wrote a few speeches, well, a lot of speeches… I think I’ve got a good sense for your tone of voice.”

Oswald flips through the pages, dense with his perfect handwriting, and long typed pages. He must look unsure because Ed’s giddy tone dips a little when he continues.

“I know it will be more difficult this time, after the lockdown and how, let’s say, ‘mean,’ you were to some people, but I really think we can spin it. I mean, you  _ did _ actually keep people alive, and we  _ were _ on the frontline against the army.” He glances at his transplanted bright blue eye. “And you still have the underworld under your control, of course, plenty of people to twist arms, rig ballot boxes…” 

“Ed, this is… this is incredible, really, I mean you’ve basically written a book overnight.” He laughs in disbelief, always amazed by his brilliance. There’s no denying the power that comes with mayorship in this town, and it’s always tempting to get caught up with Ed’s pitch-perfect scheming, but the position doesn’t feel very important to him now, not when he had almost lost everything. 

Oswald runs his hand over a page of sketches of campaign buttons, he really does think of everything. 

“But, I just lost you, partly because of how subtle we  _ haven’t _ been. I think perhaps we need to draw our business back into the shadows, and a political campaign is very much not that.” He looks at Ed’s disappointed and confused expression. “I have been giving this some thought lately.” 

“But we worked so hard for it,” Ed says, a frown draws his features. 

“I know that, but I can be powerful without it and I’m sure we can get the next mayor under our thumb without much trouble, anyway.” Oswald reaches across the counter for his plate but Ed slaps his hand away. He clutches it in shock, though it didn't really hurt. “Ed!” His mouth opens with surprise.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to hide anymore?” He says, sounding as incredulous as Oswald feels. 

“We did, but then you got put in Arkham! What if I had failed? What if I hadn’t managed to destroy our records? I would be in prison and you would be slobbering down your chin and talking to yourself in the mirror.” He reaches for his plate again, and Ed drags it out of his reach. “Seriously?”

“No, I refuse.” Ed folds his arms. “You are running again and you’re going to _win_ because I’m your chief of staff and I’ll make sure of it.” 

“But-”

“No buts!” Ed protests. “We are not giving up on all our plans just because I got caught  _ once _ .” 

“And if you get caught again?” Oswald counters. They’re arguing about something quite serious, but it feels like a squabble over curtains for the dining room. 

“You’ll get me out again.” Ed grins like it’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“Ed.” Oswald covers his face with his hands and breathes out a frustrated laugh at his obstinance and how blasé he can be after weeks of near-torture. 

“Don’t ‘Ed’ me.” He rounds the counter towards him and takes his hands away from his face, looking down at him with amusement. “One little setback isn’t enough to ruin us.” 

He must know how distracting it is when he stands so close and holds his waist like that. 

“I’m not talking about ‘ruin,’ Ed, I’m talking about being smart.” 

“I am very smart,” Ed smiles, “it’s my whole thing.” 

“You’re impossible,” Oswald says, knowing there’s no one else in the world who could sway him so easily, knowing that when Ed reaches out his hand and tells him to run with him, Oswald just can’t say no. Even unknown destinations are appealing when he’s going there with Ed, when he’s caught up in his boundless excitement. 

“Yes, and yet, irresistible to you.” He leans down and kisses him with smiling lips, and Oswald kisses him back. He smells better than he did last night, clean clothes and coffee. Oswald feels the soft material of his sweater over his arm for a moment before pulling back.

“I’m not agreeing with you yet but I’m not disagreeing with you either.” Oswald tells him, able to sense an unwinnable argument when it’s on the horizon. 

“Fair enough.”

“Can I have my breakfast now, ass?”

Ed leans forward and just gently bites the tip of Oswald’s nose. “Yes.” 

They catch up over breakfast, though Oswald does most of the talking, Ed has little he wants to say about the past month of his life and Oswald is quite happy to keep his mind off it or now. Oswald is mostly just babbling, glad to have the only person he’s ever interested in talking to back there beside him at the kitchen table, admonishing him for over-salting his eggs and topping up their coffees. 

There is a soft knock on the kitchen door, and Benoit comes in tentatively, never really knowing what mood he’ll find his boss in. Oswald supposes he can’t blame him for that. 

“Mr Penguin, the items you ordered from town have arrived.” He says, and Oswald nods, feeling nerves flare up in his stomach immediately.

“Oswald? Have you been shopping in my absence?” Ed asks, delicately sipping from his mug. 

“A little.” Oswald stands up and wipes his mouth off on his napkin. 

“Mr Riddler, nice to see you doing well,” Benoit tells him politely.

“Yes, thank you,” Ed replies, a little distracted. “Oswald, why are you nervous ticking?”

“I’m not.” Oswald frowns defensively. 

“You are, you can’t keep your fingers still.” Ed points to his hands, which Oswald firmly puts behind his back and clenches into fists. Damn him for being so observant and knowing his twitches so well. 

“Just wait here while I get dressed, alright”? He says impatiently, utterly unable to keep a poker face in front of this man. Ed quirks an interested eyebrow over the rim of his cup. Oswald gestures his assistant to leave with him and speaks to him quietly in the hallway. 

“Benoit, have the items placed in the drawing-room.” 

“Even the-”

“Yes, give it a bowl of water or something.”

“Yes, sir.” He says, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’ve hidden the small box behind the flower vase.”

“Thank you, Benoit.” 

Oswald heart races while he dresses in his bedroom, leaving his robe crumpled on the bed that has been made in his absence - clearly Olga has arrived. 

He has little doubt Ed would like two of his gifts, but the third is another question. Oswald begins to get the uncomfortable feeling he has let a teenage criminal put an idea in his head that Ed will find quite silly. Still, Oswald supposes he could just back out if he wanted, leave the rings in their box and never speak of them. 

He straightens his black waistcoat, opting not to bother with the jacket given they likely won’t be doing business today, and goes to the bathroom to gel his hair up and away from his face. Regarding himself in the mirror for a moment, he decides he’s mostly happy with what he sees - there are still those little insecurities that threaten to bleed in, like his nose, or the weight he’s slowly gaining - but mostly, he thinks he looks good. Oswald swills mouthwash once more before he leaves the room and heads back downstairs.

It’s only after a second of standing in the hallway that smells like polished mahogany that he hears the sound of a bark coming from the drawing-room, and he fears his surprise is ruined. With a noise of displeasure, Oswald opens his door to try and quiet the animal, only to find the room already occupied.

Ed is kneeling on the floor with his hands on his thighs, grinning and waiting for the dog to run back to him with the tennis ball in its mouth. 

“Ed, I told you to stay in the kitchen!” Oswald protests, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it with a frustrated huff. 

“I had to find out what you were up to,” Ed says, distracted with fussing the dog, scratching his ears and his fat body. “This is what you went shopping for?”

“You’ve been going on about wanting one for ages.” Oswald shrugs a shoulder and fights off grinning as broadly as he wants to about how happy Ed seems with the gift. 

“Yes, but you’ve always said bulldogs were disgusting.” Ed scrunches up the dogs face in his hands, the fat little thing panting and trying to lick his palm.

“Well, they are, but you wanted one,” Oswald says and sits himself down on the velvet couch. “And it is going to ruin the furniture.” He pointedly picks off a white hair from the upholstery and lets it float from his fingers. “But I’m trying to be… more selfless, for you.” 

Ed looks up at him for his position on the ground, smiling, eyes sparkling, and Oswald knows he’s really heard him. 

“Thank you, Oswald.” He kneels up and kisses his cheek sweetly. “He’s lovely.” 

Before he knows it, the dog has been hoisted up under Ed’s arm and plopped in Oswald’s lap.

“My suit!” Oswald complains, hands up defensively. 

“C’mon, look at that face.” Oswald does, the animal panting up at him in expectation. “I know you’ll love him by the end of the day.”

“Don’t bet on it.” Oswald grumbles, but strokes the dog’s head, as it seems to be what it had been expecting. “He - he wasn’t all I got you while you were gone.”

“No?” Ed stands up, brushing off his trousers with a sly smile. “What is it? Wine? Firearms? Oh, _Oswald_, silk restraints again?”

“Shh,” Oswald’s ears redden at the thought, and he stands up to where the large black box is sitting on the table, Ed follows close behind him, eyebrows raised, “something better.” 

“And bigger.” Ed surveys the box. “A new suit.” He says definitively. 

“It is a plain black box, how can you possibly know that?” Oswald scrunches his nose - he is truly impossible to surprise, always three steps ahead.

“Do you actually want me to explain my deductions? Usually, you hate that.” Ed is clearly trying not to laugh, so Oswald just sighs and gestures to it.

“Open it.” He says with faux impatience, and Ed does so immediately with giddy fingers, plopping the lid to one side and pulling apart the tissue covering it. 

“Oh.” Is all he says, his smile gone now as he picks up the pristinely folded jacket by the shoulders and holds it up. It is just as Oswald pictured it, emerald green, just the right amount of shine, covered in overlapping black and silver question marks. 

“I saw the design in one of your notebooks…” Oswald rubs his fingertips together anxiously as he watches Ed observe the garment. “I thought it would look quite fetching on you. It’s silk-lined, of course, handmade to your measurements, in a very short time, I might add.” 

Ed isn’t saying anything, just looking over the jacket with his mouth slightly open. Oswald chews his thumbnail. 

“If you don’t like it I can take it back and have the tailor try agai-”

“No, Oswald, no, no, no.” Ed shakes his head and lets out a deep breath, setting it down carefully. “This is  _ perfect _ , I-  _ Jesus _ .” His hand rests gently on Oswald’s jaw and he leans down to kiss him deeply on the mouth. “Thank you, you really didn’t have to, but I could have never have made something like that myself.” 

“I have a good eye, and I told the tailor he’d be dead by now if he didn’t get it done exactly as I said.” 

Ed chuckles and kisses him again. “Of course you did.” 

“That’s not all.” Oswald feels slightly less nervous now, even if the big gift hasn’t come yet, emboldened by how in love Ed seems with the suit. He picks up the smaller gift behind the box, a leather black glasses case, and hands it to him. 

“This is too much.” Ed shakes his head, but pops the box open anyway, finding the tinted green, gold frame glasses Oswald had gotten made. 

“The lenses have your prescription in them,” Oswald says, grinning. “Always seemed rather ridiculous that you never had glasses to go with those flashy suits." Ed takes off his glasses and puts the new ones on instead, and he looks so good Oswald feels his mouth go dry.

“How do I look?” He asks, straightening them on his nose and looking at him from behind the tinted green. Ed looks like the Riddler, no doubt. 

“Incredibly sexy,” Oswald admits on an outward breath. Ed chuckles and kisses him, harder this time. 

“You shouldn’t have spoiled me so much.” He says against his lips, and drags his lips over Oswald’s cheek and down to his jaw, reaching the tip of his tongue out just to taste the skin there. Oswald shivers and holds onto Ed’s arms, momentarily completely distracted. “Let’s go upstairs and I can spoil you.” 

“Mm, yes - wait, no, just a minute.” Oswald gently nudges him away. “There’s one more thing.” 

“What else?” Ed asks, with an incredulous laugh. “I know we have a lot of money but a gold plated collar seems a bit much.” He gestures to the dog, which has made itself quite comfortable where Oswald had been sitting on the couch.

“It’s not that.” Oswald laughs a bit, and the nerves start to creep back in. 

He watches Ed replace his new glasses with his clear ones, and takes a moment just to appreciate how good looking the love of his life is, how much it devastates him every time he takes in that perfect cheekbone and neat line of white teeth. 

Ed catches him looking and wets his lips with an expectant look. 

For a moment, he struggles to find the words. He knows the little box with the two rings is right there, in his reach behind the flower vase, but pulling it out and showing it to Ed seems too much, the thought of any fear or displeasure crossing Ed’s face at the sight is too crushing to bear. 

So he speaks, without really planning how it would come out.

“I don’t want to marry you.” He says quickly, and Ed could not look more taken aback, mouth opening and then closing in a thin line.

“Al… right.” He says and crosses his arms, face suddenly betraying nothing, just waiting to figure out what Oswald is trying to say.

“Not that I wouldn’t - not that you aren’t -” Oswald clears his throat and loosens his tie, the room suddenly feeling stifling. “I’m making a mess of this.” 

“Making a mess of what?” Ed asks, voice softening.

“I can’t really see us in a church, or a courthouse even. Marriage seems a bit… legal for a pair of criminals.” Oswald looks out of the window instead of at Ed; his heart really might beat out of his chest. “But I wanted to just say to you that I don’t ever want to be with anyone else; I want to be with you until I die - and I absolutely insist on dying first, by the way, because you were just gone for a month and I nearly completely lost my mind -” He swallows, throat dry. “And I know you probably already knew this, I hope you did, I just wanted to say it out loud, so you know it for sure… I suppose I just wanted to give you one last chance to tell me you feel differently, alright? Or if you feel the same.”

“Oswald.” Ed’s voice is very soft, and it makes Oswald finally look at him, his cheeks burning and his eyes stinging. “Do you really have to ask me that?”

“I suppose not, but I thought I probably should anyway.” He hears his voice wobble a little. 

“Alright,” Ed walks to him and takes his hands in his, running his thumbs over his knuckles comfortingly, “then I feel the same. We were made for each other, Oswald, and I’ll agree that you’re allowed to die first, but I have to say I will be very shortly behind you, and you’d better be incredibly old.” 

Oswald laughs a bit and tears sting the corners of his eyes. “Okay, agreed.”

“But if you don’t want to get married, then what are these for?” Ed pulls a little black ring box from the sleeve of his sweater and holds it up, eyes shining.

“I thought we could just… wear them, and  _ we _ would know what they were for, and that would - wait,  _ what _ ?” Oswald’s brain finally catches up to the fact that the ring box is very much not in its hiding place. “Ed!”

“What, you thought I wouldn’t search the room as soon as I knew you were up to something? Wait-” Ed backs up as Oswald approaches him, quite determined to wipe that pleased-with-himself look off his face. He actually runs away, rounding the back of the couch. The dog lifts his head, looking at them tiredly. 

“Why couldn’t you let me just surprise you?” He demands, trying to look annoyed and not smile at the guilty look on Ed’s face.

“I thought my wily sensibilities were what you loved about me.” He holds his hands up in defence, ring box in his right. 

“No, they’re what’s going to make me wring your neck.” Ed makes to go right, and Oswald goes left, then they mirror each other again. “Did you peek at your suit too?” He demands.

“No, I swear! I just couldn’t resist opening this one when I-” Oswald lunges over the couch to grab at him, but Ed turns on his heel and flees from the drawing-room, running down the hallway. 

Oswald follows him, absolutely aware that it does not do well for their image to be seen  playing around like little boys  by the staff.

“This isn’t fair!” He calls after Ed. “You’re nearly a foot taller than me, and I have a bad leg!” 

He hears Ed laugh at his attempt to guilt him, and he chases him through the kitchen and out of the back door. The sun stings his eyes as soon as they’re out in the garden and onto the lawn. Oswald is faster than he used to be now he has his brace, but even still he knows Ed very much does let himself be caught, Oswald’s arm catching him around the waist and knocking them both to the ground. 

“Oof!” Ed cackles, leaning his head back against the grass. 

“You are ridiculous.” Oswald can’t help but laugh himself, out of breath and pinning Ed's shoulders down. 

“Ridiculous and the love of your life.” Ed turns them over so Oswald is on his back, and kisses his nose. They both get their breath back, pink-cheeked and daffy, and Oswald finds Ed is just looking at him, eyes running over his face. “Why  _ did _ you get these?” He asks, holding the box between them. “I cut you off, before.” 

Oswald sighs and they both sit up. “It might be silly but I just wanted something… physical. On paper or not, that says we’re devoted to each other.” He slips the box from Ed’s fingers and pops it open. “I know we don’t  _ need _ it but I-” 

“I want that too,” Ed says, looking at the two rings sitting atop each other; silver, sleek, and simple. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

“Really?” Oswald looks up at him, and Ed nods and kisses him softly. “And you don’t care about people knowing…”

“Everyone already knows, Oswald,” Ed chuckles, “and I want them to.” 

“Yeah?” Oswald takes Ed’s ring from the box, and Ed holds up his left hand. His fingers are a little shaky despite the calmness in his voice; Oswald’s are the same. The breeze moves through the trees and over them both, it smells like Spring, and it is warmer than it should be for October.  Oswald slides the ring onto Ed’s finger; it feels like something beneath him shifts, though everything is exactly the same. Ed takes the other ring from the box and repeats the action, and Oswald is definitely crying then, tears rolling silently down to his chin as he looks down at the cold metal on his finger. 

“The crying kind of makes it feel like a wedding,” Ed says, swiping the tears off Oswald’s cheeks. 

“Shut up.” Oswald laughs and sniffles, looking down at the expensive ring again. Strange to think that this was something he thought he’d never, ever have. Ed’s hand comes to rest on the side of his face and he tilts his chin up to look at him.

“I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance...” Ed says, and Oswald feels a clench in his chest. The memory of himself, of the two of them, all that time ago, right at the beginning of the long journey of becoming everything to each other.

“I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two.” Oswald finishes the riddle for him, smiling at the look of surprise that crosses Ed’s face that Oswald had remembered it. “ _ What am I _ ?” 

They both know the answer, so it doesn’t need to be said, they just kiss again, kiss and kiss and kiss until they’re both lying in the grass and completely oblivious to the world around them. Oswald puts a hand behind Ed’s back and feels the ring on his own finger with his thumb, just reminding himself that it is there and that it always will be, just like the two of them, just like the answer to that riddle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, apologies for this last chapter taking so very long, honestly there are a lot of reasons for that, but mostly there were just a lot of things in this story that weren't my favourite of my own writing and I really struggled to come back to it. After properly rereading though I really got inspired to give it an ending, which I hope you all enjoyed.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos on this. I believe this will be the last multi-chapter instalment in the 'Worthless to One' series, though I may be back at some point with the odd one-shot of this version of them. Like a lot of us, I have some free time right now and a Gotham rewatch is definitely inspiring me to get writing in this fandom again, there's honestly no pairing that means as much to me as Oswald/Ed. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked, I appreciate them so much, hope you're staying healthy and I'll be back soon!


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